


anonymity

by fnkylttlandroid (princessofmind)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Android Hank Anderson, Glory Hole, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Implied Consent, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Spanking, Trans Character, Vaginal Sex, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 12:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofmind/pseuds/fnkylttlandroid
Summary: “Lieutenant, it looks like you’ve been here a while.  Are you certain you haven’t been satisfied?”  Connor can practically hear his lips curving into a smirk.  “That’s rather....what’s the slang term you humans are so fond of?”He doesn’t breathe.  He doesn’t so much as twitch.“Slutty.  That’s rather slutty of you, lieutenant.”





	anonymity

The building is nondescript, looking like pretty much other large, multi-story building in downtown Detroit. It looks like it could be an office building, or maybe an apartment building, but it’s hard to tell until you walk inside. The lobby, the elevator, and the hallways are all similarly unassuming and well maintained. At this location, you have to make all your reservations and arrangements online, which suits Connor just fine; he’s been to a couple seedier hotels where you just walk up, make a selection from a large binder with laminate pages, but it’s embarrassing and he always feels like he’s taking too much time to make his decision.

This way, he knows exactly what he’s expecting as he retrieves his key from the front desk after flashing his ID. It helps, too, that he’s been here once before. That was a while ago, though, and they’ve replaced the carpet in the hallways with wood, laminate by the looks of it, and repainted the walls from an oatmeal tan color to something softer, a kind of grey blue that’s calming to look at.

That doesn’t slow his heartbeat, though. It’s already going fast, lodged somewhere in the approximation of his throat as he approaches the large room at the end of the hallway and taps his key card against the sensor on the door. It clicks from red to a happy blue, and he enters.

It’s smaller on the inside, because it’s divided into two halves, although only one half is accessible conventionally. The part that he’s in currently is rather simple, with a bed with clean, freshly washed and bleached sheets, a large cupboard, and a set of drawers, all in an unassuming chestnut color. It looks almost like it could be someone’s bedroom. There’s a small door that leads to the bathroom, which is currently closed.

And there’s the hole in the wall, opposite the bed.

It’s roughly shaped like an oval, with the longer ends of the oval extending horizontally to make it easy for a person to slide their shoulders and upper body through it. Connor has large shoulders and a more narrow waist, and last time, he had to wiggle a bit to get through it. Nothing here has changed, and his pulse kicks again as he starts undressing. Methodically, he removes his tie, his button-down, his undershirt, and after a moment of hesitation, his binder. The temperature in the room is cool, as per his request, but he knows he’ll be uncomfortably warm later if he keeps it on. Everything goes, including his socks, his trousers, and his underwear, folded into a neat stack that he places on the dresser. He shifts the folded clothes until they’re perfectly parallel with the edge.

Now naked, he turns to the hole, which on this side, is in a part of the room with no furniture. It’s just a hole, at roughly waist height, a little higher but not much, and just like his predictions, he has to wiggle a little, shifting his shoulders at an awkward angle to slip through. There’s another room with a bigger hole, but it’s significantly bigger and leaves him feeling too exposed; there’s enough space left around him that it’s easy to see the rest of him, and that’s something he distinctly doesn’t enjoy.

On the other side of the hole is another, much smaller room. There’s a door off to the side, but Connor knows that it’s locked from the outside and there’s no key where he is. Pressed against the table, right beneath the hole, is a simple wooden table that he lets his upper body rest against, his arms folded, his head coming to rest on them. It’s much more sparsely decorated than the room he’s still half in, only boasting one doctor’s office painting of a seascape, a white bedside table, and a single lamp which is currently off.

“Light on,” he says, and is proud when he voice doesn’t shake.

With the room no longer shrouded in darkness, he shifts a little, his legs pressed together, his head and upper body resting on the table as he waits. It’s colder now that he isn’t moving around and has already discarded his clothes, and there are goosebumps on his skin, but he ignores it just like he ignores the anticipation all but choking him in favor of focusing on regulating his breathing like his therapist taught him. She probably didn’t intend for him to apply it like this, but hey, coping skills are coping skills no matter the situation, right?

There’s a soft beeping sound followed by an audible click in the room behind him, and Connor’s thighs clench together at the same time his breathing stalls; it takes a conscious effort to keep his breathing steady, and while sound is definitely muffled through the wall, he can hear someone moving around in the other room. There’s the muffled footfalls on the carpet, the rustle of fabric, and eventually, the clink of a belt coming undone, the sound of a zipper being lowered, and then hot, rough hands are grasping at his thighs and pressing them apart, not hard, not painful, but insistent.

The cold air hitting the hot skin of his pussy so suddenly is enough to make him gasp, and the person on the other side laughs, the sound grating and sharp. His legs are spread as far as they can go without him having to lift one of them off the ground, but apparently that isn’t good enough, because calloused fingers are spreading him open further, probing through the slick that’s already accumulated there and brushing over his dick.

The man doesn’t speak, and Connor has shifted his position a little, his arms curled more tightly under his head, hands grasping at his forearms, and when the man pushes inside him, it’s all of a sudden, no warning, no fingers ahead of time, just his dick sliding into him, a little on the small side but long, but he isn’t complaining. He can feel the man shifting behind him, a hand reaching under his pelvis to hold him up a little more as he starts to move, setting a fast, careless pace that really doesn’t have any rhythm. It feels like someone who isn’t used to doing this, who can’t control themselves when they slide home in his cunt, and that’s hot, makes him feel sexy, and he pushes down to meet them as much as he can. It’s not enough to make him come, but it feels good, his cock reaching long and deep inside him, grinding against him about every third or fourth thrust.

He doesn’t last long. It’s not a surprise, but he feels his hips jerking, pressing hard enough to scoot him forward on the table a little, and then there’s something warm and wet inside him, slipping out slowly when the man pulls back. The same hands, work-rough and careless, spread his lips and look, thumb scooping up his come and pushing it back into him. He completely ignores his cock, save for that accidental brush at the beginning, and Connor’s face is flushed, his breathing fast, his eyes closed, and he tries to steady his breathing as he hears the man zip up and leave the same way he entered.

It’s hard to keep track of time, but it isn’t long before the door is opening again. “Fuck, guy couldn’t clean up after himself?” the newcomer bitches, and there’s no sound of a belt or a zipper this time, just the rustle of clothing and hands grabbing his hips, hoisting him upwards until he’s on his tiptoes to try and maintain his balance, his hands pressed flat on the table now as he shudders.

“Fuckin hate sloppy seconds,” the other guy is muttering, and he swipes a hand over his pussy, wiping the come on his back. His palm grinds against his dick in the process, which is enough to make Connor moan, the sound muffled against his arm, but the person hears him and slaps his ass, hard enough to make him jump.

“Shut up, I’m not paying to listen to you,” he says, and Connor bites his lip, trembling faintly, his pussy clenching around nothing, nothing, until the man slams into him and he’s *much* bigger than the last guy. It stretches him almost painfully, and his palms slap against the table, trying to hold onto it as he sets a brutal rhythm, fucking him so hard it has his legs pinned to the wall, the wood digging uncomfortably into the soft skin of his stomach, and the way the guy is fucking him, he’s grinding his pelvis right against his dick, which has white light flashing behind Connor’s eyes as he pants and tries so fucking hard to keep his mouth shut, to not whine and moan and cry out like he wants to.

He comes about halfway through, tightening hard around the man’s dick and making him spit out a muffled curse, little shudders crawling through him as he heaves for breath. The man doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking him, fingers tight enough to leave bruises on his hips, and he pulls out to come all over his ass and the backs of his thighs. He can feel it sticking and clinging to his skin, and the man, who’s mostly been quite the whole time, heaves a deep, contented sigh before leaving, his mess still quite literally covering him.

There are two other men who come after him. One of them fucks him with his fingers first, curling them inside him until he’s sobbing and then spreading them open, working his pussy until he’s gaping and biting his lip to keep from begging to be fucked. When he finally, _finally_ pushes into him, he cries out, which the man takes as encouragement and fucks him hard and fast, coming inside him like the first one. The fourth man doesn’t play with him; just drops his pants and gets in there. He’s the biggest of the evening, and Connor is practically crying as he fucks him deep, one of his hands holding his hip, the other rubbing against his cock. He comes once with something suspiciously close to a sob, and almost comes a second time, but the man comes and pulls out, leaving him squirming and clutching at the edge of the table, panting for breath as tries not to just fucking _scream_ at being denied.

There’s a longer pause, after the fourth man, long enough to have him worried, but then the door opens and the person doesn’t immediately approach him.

“Lieutenant Anderson.”

His heart jumps so hard it honestly hurts, his breath stuttering, his hands fisted on the table as his pussy squeezes, causing more slick to coat the inside of his thighs, his whole body all but trembling with _want need have to have_.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you in a place like this.” Hank’s voice is that seem deep baritone it always is, a little rough, a little smokey, but there’s something else tingeing it. Something suspiciously like arousal. Or maybe that’s just wistful thinking, and it’s really disgust. “You’ve made quite the mess of yourself.”

There’s nothing for a long, handful of seconds, and then soft footfalls approach him. There’s a rustle of clothing. The sound of someone shifting behind him. And then, all of a sudden, lips, a tongue, pressed to his sore, swollen cunt, and he does cry out this time. “Let’s get you cleaned up, first,” he says, his voice closer, a little lower, and Connor is trembling on the table, jittering like an addict ready to do anything to get a fix, his hands grasping at nothing on the table. He doesn’t bother to be quiet as Hank starts working him over, licking his pussy clean with long, broad swipes of his tongue, lips pressing against his hole and sucking, tongue delving inside shortly after to clean him out quite thoroughly. His hands aren’t idle, one of them squeezing his thigh while the other presses against his dick. He doesn’t stroke him or fondle him, and that’s not what Connor wants; he wants something to rub against, to grind on, and he does so with abandon now, tears clinging to his lashes as his toes curl in the cheap carpet.

“Fuck, oh fuck, _fuck_ ,” Connor gasps, the words broken and rough, hips bucking and squirming against Hank’s hand, his lips, and he can feel his beard scratching against his already sensitive, rubbed-raw skin, and it hurts but it’s _so good_. It feels a little like a scene in a movie, where the main characters are running somewhere only to find themselves stopping just before a sheer drop off a cliff. Connor doesn’t stop, though; he hurtles off the damn cliff, pressing back against Hank’s face, fingernails attempting to dig into the wood of the table as he moans brokenly, his orgasm leaving him almost insensate.

With a last lick and an obscene sound, he can hear Hank rising behind him, can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising as the android just studies him. “You look like you still want more,” he observes, hands grasping his ass, kneading the soft flesh, pulling his cheeks apart and then pushing them back together. “It’s hard to tell without looking at your face, but given your biometric feedback, I think you could manage one more orgasm.”

Connor isn’t sure that he can. He’s panting and trembling, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead and slipping down his neck, and he’s not holding himself up anymore; Hank is entirely responsible for keeping his hips where he wants him, and his forehead is pressed to the table, his hands still loosely grasping the edge of the table. Quite frankly, he’s a mess, and so oversensitive that it almost _hurts_ when Hank’s fingers brush through the sloppy mess of his cunt, rubbing over the slick skin, an irritated red in color and not a soft pink. But his stomach is still clenching, arousal making him press against the questioning fingers.

Hank makes a softly amused sound, and he slaps his ass, the opposite cheek from the other guy, the first one, and it rocks Connor forward, his hips digging into the wall as he cries out. “I believe that answers that question,” he murmurs. “Lieutenant, it looks like you’ve been here a while. Are you certain you haven’t been satisfied?” Connor can practically hear his lips curving into a smirk. “That’s rather....what’s the slang term you humans are so fond of?”

He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Slutty. That’s rather slutty of you, lieutenant.”

Connor makes a weak, broken noise against the table, and Hank spanks him again, making him shout, his hands slapping against the table, his forehead pressing hard enough to the wood grain that it hurts, his skin burning, tingles cascading up and down his spine, making him feel lightheaded.

“How many men were in here before me?” he asks, and his voice is calm, unaffected as he drags his nails over the red skin, making Connor’s hips twist like he’s trying to get away, but Hank holds him in place. “Two? Three?” With each guess, Connor can imagine his brows rising higher. “Don’t tell me it was more than three, lieutenant. Four?”

He nods, but Hank can’t see that, he realizes, so he says, just barely loud enough for him to hear, “Yes.”

Hank tsks, slapping his ass twice in quick succession, and Connor grits his teeth against it, his whole body feeling flushed from the attention. He wonders what he looks like now, with Hank turning his ass the same color red as his cunt, naked and trembling and unable to hold himself upright. The android reaches between his legs and pinches the tip of his dick, not hard, but hard _enough_.

Connor screams.

“I seem to remember that you like the number five, lieutenant,” he says, conversationally, his voice unaffected and even, like he’s commenting on the weather as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. “The number five, and other numbers divisible by five, but we do not have the time to linger here for five more men to fuck you to make it an even ten, so you will have to settle for me being the last.”

He can feel Hank’s hands grasping one of his thighs, and they’re smooth, featureless, and cool. It’s not his chassis, not the white plastic shot through with blue that fascinates Connor so much, but his hands are definitely not a human’s hands even with the artificial skin engaged. His hands are big, easily big enough to get a good grip on his thigh and lift it up, leaving him with just one foot on tiptoe touching the ground. He holds his other thigh up, in a position that would have Connor on his side if he wasn’t currently stuck through the wall, but it shifts his hips, exposes him even more, and that has him flushed with embarrassment so potent he can feel it bleeding down the back of his neck and the top of his chest.

Hank’s body, broad and strong and sturdy, presses against his, rubbing his cock through his slick folds without pressing in, brushing his own cock, and Connor is so oversensitive and strung out at this point that he’s crying, his face feeling tacky with sweat and tears as he jerks in his hold, simultaneously trying to get more friction and get away from it. Hank’s other hand, the one not holding his thigh up, brushes over his trembling stomach, holding him and supporting him as he finally, _finally_ slides his length home.

It’s like his dick was made to fill him up perfectly; he’s not particularly long, but he’s _thick_ stretching him open as he jerks in his hold, moaning weakly as he rocks against him. Hank doesn’t pull out and thrust, doesn’t slam him against the wall, but stays seated all the way inside him, stuffed fucking full of his cock, and grinds and rocks, his belly pressed to the backs of his thighs, his hand petting his stomach in a deceptively soft motion.

Connor has no idea how long Hank fucks him like that, he’s so _sensitive_ , and his dick is rubbing him just right, brushing over all the right places. It’s not hard enough to make him come quickly, so it’s this delicious, long burn that sears across his skin and scalds his lungs, his hips jerking in his Hank’s grasp, his throat raw as he moans and whimpers and whines. For a moment, Hank’s hand drifts away from his stomach, and when it returns, it’s slick and pressed to his dick.

He’s fighting so hard to squirm, he can feel the bruises forming under Hank’s fingers on his thigh but he doesn’t care, and Hank seems to take pity on him, loosening his grasp enough that he can push harder against his dick, working himself on it as hard as he can while he grinds his own cock against Hank’s cool, slick hand. He doesn’t have the breath to scream, when he comes, just tenses all over and jerks in his grasp, his upper body almost falling off the table in the process as he tightens like a vice around Hank’s dick.

The android isn’t finished, and keeps up that slow pace until Connor is fucking _sobbing_ with sensitivity and overstimulation, and finally, finally, he feels his hips jerk once, twice, three times, and then he stills, his cock still buried inside him.

Connor has his arm pressed tight to his face, over his eyes, to try and stop the tears as he catches his breath, Hank’s hands gentle as the pet over his back and his stomach. After an indeterminate amount of time, Hank slips free and with just as much care, he slides Connor back towards him, turning his shoulders so he slides free of the hole in the wall and into his arms. He has his eyes closed, his arm still pressed so hard to his eyes that he can see starbursts, but he can feel himself being lifted as if he weighs nothing, carried over to the large bed and laid down on it.

Hank lets him hide while he cleans him off, soft brushes of a warm washcloth cleaning his skin of the tacky artificial ejaculate that always feels like glue once it dries, and his touch is so careful, so slow, as he cleans between his legs. It’s only when Hank carefully presses a cold washcloth against his irritated skin, soothing his dick and pussy, that he lets his arm fall away. He’s shifting closer immediately, using a different washcloth to wipe his face, and as soon as he’s done with that, his lips brush against his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, his chin. Pretty much anywhere he can reach, and Connor sighs with contentment, turning towards him as he squeezes his legs together to keep the cold washcloth in place.

Hank’s beard brushes against his face with a pleasant tickle as he kisses him properly, his lips cool but still soft as he shifts close enough to press to his chest. He’d swapped his uniform for something a little more comfortable, it feels like, and when he opens his eyes, he can confirm that he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair tied back in the same bun it’s usually in. It’s a little messy, though, which makes Connor smile.

He probably looks kind of dopey, all high off endorphins and four fucking orgasms, but Hank just looks endeared, his LED circling a calm, content blue.

On the nightstand behind him are the four different models of dick attachments he made use of, each one a slightly different size. “The voice modulation was a good touch,” Connor comments, his voice hoarse and shot all to shit.

“I take it that was satisfactory, then?” Hank asks, fingers gently smoothing through his hair. In a little while, they’ll take a bath together before their time in the room is up, but for now, Connor wouldn’t move out of his embrace of his arms for anything. Shifting a little, Hank draws the covers up over him, leaving Connor a warm, bundled up puddle of a man against his chest.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

“Eh, it was alright,” he jokes, and Hank gives him an unimpressed look, although there’s no malice in his gaze; his blue eyes are soft, affectionate and loving, and Connor leans in to kiss him again. “You were fucking fantastic. As always.”

“I believe you mean it was “fantastic fucking”, lieutenant.”

Connor groans, loudly, and it’s a very different kind of groan from the sounds he was making earlier, but whatever. “Why do you insist on being terrible when I couldn’t get up and walk away from you if I tried?”

“For that exact reason,” Hank says, his thumb brushing softly back and forth over the back of his neck, his other hand warm and firm against the small of his back. “However, I am confident you wouldn’t get up and walk away from me even if you could.”

Smug fucking android. However, he can’t help but smile. “Nah. I wouldn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is entirely the fault of @beartwinkhell and @bejeweleddicks over on twitter, so blame them for this
> 
> i can't believe my first piece for this fandom is over seven pages of just smut ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> follow me over on twitter jericho @fnkylttlandroid


End file.
